A Little Night Music

One of the most valuable lessons we took with us from our university days was not just how to do our job properly in our chosen career, but also how to do it with a screaming hangover. At this we had plenty of practice.

A lot of booze has flowed under the bridge since those happy days however and we are now, I’m sorry to say, a little more sensible. We hardly ever drink midweek these days, except on special occasions (Frank Sinatra’s birthday, anniversary of the battle of Tafalgar, Zambian independence day and suchlike).

Heather had invited a posse of harridans round for some sort of commitee meeting in association with the businesswomens club of which she is a member. You know the kind of thing: Square Table/Lionesses/Spare Wheel/Rotavators. Not content with putting a few beers and a bowl of potato chips on the table, as I would have done for my homeboys in a similar but rival organisation, she had to go and bake a couple of apple pies and a whole load of spiced buns. I suggested to her that when she changed after the baking she should put on her naughtiest underwear and wear it under her conservative outer clothes through the whole meeting and only she and I would know. I would gladly have laced her breath-squeezingly tightly into her corset and eased a butt-plug into her, but she cried off, using the excuse that she wouldn’t have time what with all the preparations. She was right, of course. It was I who answered the door to the first of the harridans while she was still upstairs getting ready.

I was banished from large tracts of the house for a couple of hours while The Committee secured the furtherance of global democracy or some such other worthy cause and it was only when they finally left that I was able to emerge from my lair to scavenge what food I could from the leftovers. Included in these were a couple of opened bottles of Chianti which we quickly despatched the help of some foul-smelling but delicious-tasting Esrom cheese on crusty white bread with strips of sweet red pepper.

When we made it up to the bedroom we were both nicely mellow. So mellow, in fact that we were in danger of falling asleep while languidly playing with each other. Nice though this is, I thought the party could do with some livening-up. I rolled towards Heather and kissed her hard, full on the lips, pressing down to make an airtight seal. One hand slid over her face and pinched her nostrils, depriving her of all breath except that which I allowed her. She was passive for a few moments, then started to wriggle and squirm, finally shouting into my open mouth and trying to suck the breath from me. I released her and let her take two or three gasping breaths before clamping down on her again, smothering her, pinning her down.

I ventured a finger between her legs. As expected, she was now soaking wet. A little breath play plus the feel of something closing over her face never fails to get her wet in no time. I climbed onto her and slid into her slippery expectant cunt, giving her a few exploratory thrusts before pressing my lips down on hers, pinching her nose once again and pounding her hard as she struggled for breath.

She wrapped her arms and legs around me, giving herself to me completely, but I wanted to take her higher still. I pulled out and knelt up beside her and eased a couple of fingers up inside her. She seemed to like that, so I ventured a couple more, with my thumb swirling round her clit for good measure.

I mentioned recently that, with Son and his fiancée living at home, things had been a little quiet recently as far as sex was concerned. Literally. This was the night when all inhibitions were cast aside. Heather is not usually very vocal at the best of times but with both of us being somewhat tipsy and with nobody but me to hear she really gave it everything she had.

I grasped her ankles and lifted them up over her head, then, giving my little finger an extra coating of her viscous juices, I slid it into her arsehole as far as it would go. She was shrieking with pleasure by now and when I leaned over and the tip of my tongue touched her swollen clit she exploded into orgasm.

”Bring me down gently! For Gods sake bring me down gently!” she shouted despairingly, again and again as her anal sphincter contracted repeatedly over my finger. All my instincts were to leap on top of her and savagely take her while she was still being hit by wave after wave of contractions but I held back and took her down slowly as she had begged, gently running the underside of my tongue down the smooth inner surfaces of her labia and occasionally over her bulbous little clit, sending after-shocks coursing through her body. Slowly, infinitely slowly, I drew my fingers out from inside herand then held her close to me as the shockwaves subsided and the shivering took over.

Again I covered her, but gently this time and kissing her on the forehead as I cradled her head, and the pillow on which it rested, in my arms. Again she spread her arms and legs wide to receive me and I entered her with slow, gentle, rhythmic thrusts until she began to moan again with pleasure. I held off as long as I could, delaying and intensifying my enjoyment, until I sensed that Heather was tiring and had had enough. She pulled at my nipples; a kind of code between us that she wants me to finish off, and I obliged within seconds, releasing the pent-up sperm deep inside her and overflowing to leave a large opalescent blob on the sheets.

I cupped her face in my hands, she did the same to me and we gazed wordlessly into each other’s eyes. We didn’t need to say anything but we both knew it was the best sex we had had in a long time. Though neither of us could bring ourselves to formulate the words, we both knew that it was due in a lage part to being able to make as much noise as we wanted, now that we have the house to ourselves again.

Though I think the wine might have helped as well